CAUF.  UBRAMY.  LOS  ANGELES* 


The  Lady  In  Gray 


3s,  CLARA  E.  LAUGHLIN 

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The  Lady  in  Gray 

A  story  of  the  steps 
by  which  we  climb 


BY 


Clara  E.  Laughlin 


'Life  and  Suffering  are  Power" 


NEW  YORK       CHICAGO       TORONTO 

Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

LONDON  AND  EDINBURGH 
1908 


Copyright,  1908,  by 
FLEMING  H.   REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  80  Wabash  Avenue 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  Street,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:  100  Princes  Street 


FRANCES    STARR 


21,30993 


"  The  only  ghosts,  I  believe,  who  creep 
into  this  world,  are  dead  young  mothers, 
returned  to  see  how  their  children  fare. 
There  is  no  other  inducement  great 
enough  to  bring  the  departed  back." 

JAMES  M.  BARRIE, 
In  «  The  Little  White  Bird." 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 


I 

THE  homely  room  was  full  of  after- 
noon sunshine.  On  the  west  and 
south  windows  the  icicles  dripped 
with  a  measured  regularity  hardly  outdone 
by  the  ticking  of  the  old  clock  with  the  Swiss 
mountain  scene  painted  on  its  face  below  the 
dial.  There  was  a  gray,  sluggish  look  to  the 
fire  in  the  self-feeder,  but  its  cheer  was  not 
needed,  for  the  big  bay  window  was  banked 
with  potted  geraniums  rising  tier  above  tier 
in  their  wire  stand,  so  that  the  sunlight, 
filtering  through,  lay  in  latticed  stripes  and 
patches  on  the  floor. 

The  carpet  was  a  faded  Brussels  which 
had  once  been  many-hued,  but  was  far  more 
forgivable  in  its  latter  state  than  its  first. 
Faded,  too,  was  the  old  sofa,  which  sagged 
in  the  middle  where  tired  bodies  had  laid  the 
7 


THE  LADY 

heaviest  tax  on  its  comfort.  The  sofa  had 
played  an  important  part  in  the  drama  of 
family  life  in  this  home  ;  it  had  held  two  little 
babies  on  their  earliest  journeys  from  the  bed- 
room adjoining,  where  they  had  come  into 
the  world;  it  had  held  those  same  babies 
afterwards,  in  times  of  misery,  their  little 
heads  wound  'round  with  hot  flannel,  and  in 
times  of  ecstasy,  curled  up  with  Grimm's 
fairy  tales  or  Robinson  Crusoe.  Once  there 
had  been  carried  to  it,  from  that  near-by  bed- 
room, a  young  woman  with  a  flush  in  her 
thin  cheeks,  and  when  she  was  lifted  thence 
again  the  flush  was  gone,  and  she  had 
turned  awesomely  waxy ;  and  that  night 
a  man  lay  on  the  sofa  the  long  hours 
through  until  the  gray  dawn,  shaking  with 
sobs. 

To-day,  a  little  girl  played  beside  the  faded 
sofa  on  the  faded  Brussels  floor.  The  room 
which  had  once  been  eloquent  of  loving  care, 

now  showed  the  difference  between  home- 
8 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

making  as  a  delight  and  home-making  as  a 
duty.  When  that  young  thing  went  waxy- 
white  so  suddenly,  there  had  come,  not  to 
take  her  place  but  to  keep  her  house,  a  stout, 
sturdy,  serene  person  of  distant  cousinship, 
who  met  every  requirement  with  apparently 
greater  skill  than  the  young  thing  had  ever 
dreamed  of.  Only  a  sensitive  spirit,  perhaps, 
would  have  noted  the  difference ;  certainly 
the  stout  woman  didn't ;  as  for  the  children, 
they  could  remember  no  other  than  the  stout 
relative's  ways.  And  if  the  man  who  had 
sobbed  that  long,  black  night  through,  felt 
any  difference,  he  never  said  so. 

In  the  kitchen  the  stout  relative  was  mak- 
ing apple  sauce,  stepping  about  heavily  from 
sink  to  stove,  with  an  occasional  word  to  the 
cat  to  get  out  of  her  way. 

In  the  sitting-room,  the  child,  with  a  small 
china  doll  and  a  large  rag  doll,  played  "  come 
to  see." 

"  Now,"  she  murmured  to  her  family,  "  we'll 
9 


E  LADY  IN  GRAY 

all  dress  up  in  our  very  best  dresses  and  go 
to  visit  the  gray  lady." 

The  china  doll,  by  reason  of  her  undemand- 

* 

ing  size,  was  the  only  one  of  the  trio  who 
had  a  "  really "  best  dress ;  it  was  a  silvery 
gray  silk  which  the  child  knew  had  belonged 
to  that  mythical  person,  her  mother.  She 
thought  her  mother  must  have  been  a  very 
splendid  creature,  for  the  scrap  of  silk  was 
far  more  beautiful  than  anything  in  the  way 
of  wearing  apparel  the  child  had  ever  seen. 
Indeed,  it  was  the  only  bit  of  beauty  in  her 
piece -box,  full  of  the  snippings  and  leavings 
of  wholly  utilitarian  dressers.  Out  of  a  waste 
of  black  cashmere  and  brown  henrietta-cloth 
and  drab  brilliantine,  the  child  had  only  this 
little  scrap  of  suggestion  whereby  to  lay  hold 
on  a  lovelier  order  of  things,  and  all  the 
Beings  Beauteous  of  her  world  of  dreams 
wore  gray  silk,  shimmering,  silvery  gray  silk, 
and  none  other  apparel  at  any  time. 

Arrayed  in  her  precious  gown  of  gray,  the 


10 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


china  doll  was  set  on  the  sofa  to  "  keep  clean 
and  not  muss  yourself " — a  formula  familiar 
to  the  child — and  the  labour  of  apparelling  the 
rag  doll  in  silvery  silk  of  the  imagination 
was  speedily  accomplished ;  a  quaint  little 
black-and-white  checked  shawl  belonging  to 
the  child  was  pinned  by  one  corner  to  the 
doll's  back,  for  a  train,  and  her  costume  was 
complete.  The  child's  own  'tiring  took  longer, 
as  she  really  pretended  to  don  and  button  and 
tie  and  adjust  a  very  elaborate  toilet  which 
was  "  all  gray  silk,  even  to  my  bunnit,"  she 
told  the  dolls  ;  although  to  the  unseeing  eye 
there  was  no  "  bunnit  "  nor  any  evidence  of 
festal  array  beyond  one  of  the  stout  relative's 
white  aprons,  edged  with  crochet  lace,  tied 
in  front  about  the  child's  waist. 

If  the  child  had  lived  in  these  days,  perhaps 
her  elders,  enlightened  by  William  Canton 
and  other  sages  of  the  child-heart,  might 
have  accepted  the  "  gray  lady  "  as  a  matter 
of  course, — the  "  invisible  playmate  "  all  im- 


ii 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


aginative  children  have.  But  these  things 
happened  thirty  years  ago,  when  people  had 
small  respect  for  the  visions  of  the  childish 
mind.  However,  visions  that  two  can  see 
are  little  like  to  be  worth  having,  and  the 
child  felt  no  loneliness  in  her  sense  of  the 
gray  lady. 

The  journey  to  the  gray  lady's  house  was 
made  by  way  of  the  stove,  the  stand  of  plants, 
and  the  patent  rocker,  back  to  the  sofa 
again,  where  a  grave  little  group  stood 
awaiting  entrance  to  a  grand  house,  "twict 
as  big  "  as  the  biggest  house  in  the  village, 
she  explained  to  her  eager  children. 

"  Oh,  for  goodness  sakes ! "  said  a  small, 
affected  voice,  speaking  for  the  gray  lady  at 
sight  of  the  company  (it  was  what  the  stout 
relative  always  said,  and  the  child  knew  no 
other  form  of  greeting),  "  Come  right  in  and 
have  some  cake  and  lemonade ;  I've  just  baked 
a  raisin  cake  with  the  thi-ickest  frostin' " 
(this  was  not  quoted  from  the  stout  relative, 


12 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

If 

but  represented  the  child's  idea  of  what  a 

really  lovely  lady  would  say,  standing  on 
the  threshold  of  her  castle  of  delight). 

I'm  sure  I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  the  en- 
chanting things  the  gray  lady  had  in  her 
castle,  nor  the  delicious  things  she  dispensed, 
nor  the  ecstasy  it  was  to  visit  her  and  to  have 
her  "  come  to  see  "  ;  you  may  not  have  called 
her  the  gray  lady  (I  used  to  call  her  Mrs. 
Rich),  but  you  doubtless  knew  her,  and  her 
house,  and  all  her  delightful  ways.  Wher- 
ever, on  a  childish  spirit,  "  the  world's  rough 
hand  "  had  lain  heavily,  there  the  fairy  god- 
mother, whatever  we  called  her,  laid  the  balm 

of  her  soft,  cool  fingers,  and  what  we  lacked 

- 

was  suddenly  supplied.  When  she  ceased 
to  soothe  us  we  began  to  realize  that  we  had 
left  the  dear  child-heart  far  behind,  and  very 
wistful  for  her  return  we've  often  been.  Ah, 
well!  — 

The  three  were  making  their  ceremonious 
exit  from  the  gray  lady's  house,  the  child 

13 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

holding  the  rag  doll  by  one  hand  and  carry- 
ing the  china  doll  in  the  crook  of  the  other 
arm,  when  the  murmur  of  subdued  conversa- 
tion attracted  the  stout  relative's  attention. 

"  For  the  land's  sake !  What's  that  child 
up  to  now  ?  "  she  muttered,  drawing  her  pan 
of  apple  sauce  back  from  the  front  of  the 
range  so  it  wouldn't  burn  while  she  went  to 
look. 

The  white  apron  and  the  checked  shawl 
were  being  given  a  proud  little  flirt,  to  spread 
them  to  their  amplest  splendour,  when  she 
opened  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Who  you  talking  to  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nobody,"  said  the  little  girl,  guiltily  con- 
scious of  the  clean  white  apron. 

"  Where's  your  sister  ?  "  demandingly. 

"Out  playin',"  with  a  jerk  of  her  head 
towards  the  window. 

"Well,  and  why  ain't  you  out  playin'  's 
what  I  want  to  know?  Huggin'  the  stove 
this  beautiful,  warm  day,  like  it  was  twenty 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 

below  zero.  An'  my  clean  white  apron 
a-draggin'  'round  the  floors  1  Gimme  it  this 
minute !  An'  you  put  on  your  things  an'  go 
out  an'  play,  an'  don't  come  in  till  I  tell  you  to." 

There  was  nothing  unkindly  in  the  com- 
mand— that  is,  unkindly  intentioned.  It  was 
a  mild  winter  day  and  every  other  child  in 
the  village  was  out  sledding  or  snowballing 
or  playing  games  in  the  soft  snow,  and  one 
solitary  child  indoors  playing  alone  marked 
an  inclination  towards  peculiarity  not  to  be 
tolerated.  The  stout  relative  had  an  easy 
conviction  that  what  "  mos'  folks  "  did  was 
right,  and  she  hated  any  departure  from  the 
way  of  the  majority. 

That  night,  when  the  ruddy  little  "tom- 
boy" girl  and  the  rather  pale  little  quiet  girl 
were  tucked  in  bed,  their  prayers  said  and 
the  stout  relative's  duty  discharged  for  one 
more  day,  she  told  the  children's  father  that 
she  believed  the  younger  child  ought  to  be 
"  looked  after  a  little." 
15 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


"  It  don't  seem  natural  to  me  for  a  child  to 
be  playin'  'round  by  herself  all  the  time  an' 
a-talkin'  to  folks  that  ain't  there.  I  dunno  ! 
It  may  be  all  right,  but  it  don't  seem  so  to 
me.  'Tain't  like  I  was  their  own  mother,  you 
see;  I  don't  feel  's  if  I'd  ought  to  take  the 
same  responsibility." 

The  man  across  from  her  looked  worried. 
He  was  a  quiet  man,  and  the  look  of  grim 
resignation  which  had  settled  about  his  mouth 
in  the  gray  of  that  desolate  morning  years 
ago,  had  never  left  him. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  he  murmured. 
"  I  know  you  do  all  you  can,  all  anybody  can  ; 
but  there's  no  one  but  their  mothers  knows 
how  to  bring  up  little  girls,  I  guess." 


16 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 


II 

FIFTEEN  years  had  passed  since  the 
winter  day  when  the  little  girl  played 
"  come  to  see  "  her  dear  gray  lady. 
They  had  been  busy,  happy  years,  and  it 
was  a  long,  long  time  since  she  had  thought 
of  the  invisible  playmate  of  her  childhood. 
She  had  developed  a  gift  of  song,  and  all  her 
day-dreams,  now,  were  of  the  fame  it  was  to 
bring  her ;  of  the  thrill  of  standing  before 
great  audiences  and  feeling  her  power  over 
them  ;  of  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  perpetual 
adoration.  She  "  played "  the  day  was 
already  come  when  these  things  were  true. 
She  planned  the  gorgeous  gowns  she'd  wear, 
the  flowers  that  would  be  handed  up  to  her 
across  blazing  footlights,  the  murmurs  of  awe 
and  wonder  that  would  follow  in  her  wake 
wherever  she  moved. 

17 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 

Then,  one  day,  the  older  girl — the  active, 
restless  older  girl,  whose  whole  life  had  been 
one  intense  longing  for  adventure,  for  escape 
from  the  monotony  of  the  home  routine — re- 
turned from  the  near-by  city  and  announced 
her  marriage.  She  had  laid  her  hand 
eagerly  in  that  of  the  first  man  who  prom- 
ised her  a  change  ;  and  packing  into  a  small 
trunk  all  the  belongings  of  the  old  life  that 
she  cared  to  carry  into  the  new,  she  set  forth, 
radiant  with  expectancy,  to  try  to  find  hap- 
piness in  the  city  of  great  shops  and  theaters 
and  gay  crowds  and  constant  variety. 

In  six  years  she  was  back  ;  lying,' day  after 
day,  on  the  old  sofa  in  the  sitting-room,  and 
watching  with  childish  interest  the  change  of 
the  sunspot  on  the  carpet  every  afternoon  at 
three,  as  winter  wore  on  towards  spring.  In 
the  spring  she  died,  and  two  little  children,  a 
boy  and  a  girl,  stood  by  her  open  grave 
in  the  cemetery  and  gazed  with  awe-filled 

but  uncomprehending  eyes  at  the  last  act  of 
18 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 


a  poor  little  tragedy  which  but  for  them 
would  have  lacked  any  element  of  poignancy. 
For  herself,  she  was  glad  to  slip  away ;  but 
for  them,  going  would  have  had  no  anguish. 

"  Be  good  to  my  poor  babies,"  she  pleaded 
with  her  last  fluttering  breath.  It  was  the 
thousandth  time  she  had  made  the  plea,  and 
then,  as  ever,  her  sister  promised. 

Now  she  was  gone ;  the  things  she  had 
worn  were  folded  and  put  away,  and  down 
from  the  attic  was  brought  a  quaint  little 
child's  rocker — blue,  with  red  roses  painted 
on  it — in  which  she  had  sat  long  ago.  Out  of 
exile  came,  too,  the  rag  doll  and  the  china 
doll,  and  the  little  black  and  white  checked 
shawl  with  the  ragged  fringe. 

The  old  sitting-room  looked  very  different, 
now,  for  all  the  years  of  weal  and  woe  and 
humdrum  daily  routine  that  had  passed  over 
it.  There  was  an  open  fireplace  instead  of  the 
self-feeder,  and  the  carpet  had  been  renewed ; 
so,  too,  the  sofa,  which  had  had  new  interior 
19 


I    N 


GRAY 


economy  and  new  exterior  apparel  more  than 
once,  without  sacrifice  of  its  familiar  appear- 
ance. For  the  rest,  things  were  practically 
unaltered ;  the  bay  window  was  still  full  of 
flowering  plants  on  their  green  wire  stand ; 
the  old  clock  with  the  Swiss  mountain  scene 
had  not  faltered  in  faithfulness ;  even  the 
patent  rocker  was  still  in  commission. 

Outwardly,  things  showed  little  change ; 
but  in  reality,  the  whole  face  of  the  universe 
was  changed  for  the  woman  on  whose  minis- 
trations, now,  this  home  depended.  The 
stout  relative  had  long  since  given  up  her 
cares  here  and  gone  to  doze  out  a  restful  old 
age  in  the  chimney-corner  of  a  dutiful  son. 
It  was  a  slim,  girlish  form,  now,  that  moved 
about  the  homely  tasks — a  slim,  girlish  form 
whose  shoulders  bore  the  burden  of  her 
father's  comfort  and  welfare,  and  of  these 
little  children's.  The  dreams  of  glory  seemed 
as  far  behind  this  present  as  the  visits  to  the 
gray  lady ;  for  even  had  there  been  means  to 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

make  study  possible,  there  was  no  way,  now, 
to  evade  the  responsibilities  love  laid  on  her. 

So  things  stood  when  the  postman's  knock 
brought  her  to  the  door  one  June  morning 
about  six  weeks  after  her  sister's  death. 
There  was  a  letter  for  her  in  a  familiar  hand- 
writing. With  a  happy  smile  on  her  face  she 
carried  it  into  the  sitting-room  and  dropped 
upon  the  sofa,  tearing  open  the  envelope  with 
an  impatient  finger. 

"  Wonderful,  wonderful  news  ! "  the  letter 
said.  "  I  have  two  years'  leave  of  absence 
and  a  scholarship  fund,  and  I  am  to  go  to 
Germany  to  study.  I  leave  here  the  day  col- 
lege closes,  and  will  be  with  you  forty-eight 
hours  thereafter." 

This  was  not  all.  There  was  something, 
not  written  so  much  as  conveyed  between 
the  lines,  that  sent  the  blood  rushing  to  her 
cheeks  and  temples  and  caused  her  to  hide 
her  conscious  face  in  the  pillows.  He  was 
coming  for  her,  she  knew,  this  man  she 

21 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 

loved  and  who  loved  her.  He  was  coming  to 
take  her  to  Germany,  to  share  with  her  this 
wonderful  opportunity.  To  Germany,  whither 
she  had  so  longed  to  go  !  And  because  she 
was  young  and  not  long  used  to  her  respon- 
sibilities, she  forgot  them  for  a  moment 
while  her  blissful  fancy  galloped  ahead  to 
the  lovers'  meeting,  to  the  voyage  across  the 
sea,  to  the  schools  of  the  music  masters,  and 
to  triumph  at  the  end  of  hard,  happy  work. 
Then  she  remembered ! 

He  came,  as  he  had  said,  and  when  she  had 
opened  the  door  for  him  and  looked  into  his 
eyes,  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  say  any- 
thing. All  she  hoped  and  all  she  dreaded 
was  there,  glowing  with  love  and  expectation. 

He  was  so  radiant  it  was  thrice  hard  to  tell 
him,  to  see  the  eager  light  fade  from  his  eyes, 
and  pain,  protest  and  reproach  take  its  place. 

Yes,  he  knew  about  the  children,  cer- 
tainly !  He  knew  that  her  father  was  old  and 
poor  and  sad.  But  think !  Think  what  this 

22 


THE  LADY          IN          GRAY 

W 

opportunity  meant.  It  was  not  love  only,  it 
was  the  open  door  to  all  those  things  she  had 
so  passionately  desired  and  he  had,  these  sev- 
eral years,  so  ardently  longed  to  give  her. 

"  I  have  thought ! "  she  cried,  "  God  knows 
how  I  have  thought  of  all  these  things,  and 
wished  for  them.  But  I  can't — it  must  not 
be— I  can't,  I  can't  1 " 

Was  there  no  elderly  relative  who  might 
come  again  to  the  rescue,  as  when  her  mother 
died? 

No,  she  told  him  sadly,  there  was  none. 

Well,  then,  couldn't  some  one  be  hired  to 
cook  and  clean  and  mend,  some  one  who 
had  no  voice,  no  lover  waiting  for  her  ? 

Ah,  yes!  there  were  such,  undoubtedly. 
But  how  could  she  leave  those  she  loved  to 
the  mercy  of  an  hireling?  There  was  her 
promise  to  the  dead.  There  was  her  duty 
towards  her  father,  that  man  of  many  sorrows 
so  patiently  borne. 

"  Therefore  shall  a  man  leave  father  and 
23 


I    N 


GRAY 


mother  and  cleave  unto  his  wife,"  he  quoted. 
"  Shall  a  woman  do  less  ?  Haven't  women 
been  leaving  all  on  earth  and  cleaving  unto 
men  they  loved,  since  time  began,  and  has 
anybody  thought  harm  of  it  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  torture  me  !  "  she  begged,  pite- 
ously.  "  Wait,  wait !  let  me  think  1 " 

"  To-morrow  night,  then,"  he  whispered, 
"  to-morrow  night  I'll  come  for  my  answer." 

And  now  he  was  here,  talking  easily  to  her 
father  about  public  affairs  while  she  put  the 
children  to  bed. 

A  red-shaded  lamp  hung  low  over  a  center 
table  strewn  with  evidences  of  the  family 
life :  an  evening  paper  loosely  folded  after 
a  leisurely  reading  ;  a  recent  magazine  lying 
open,  face  down,  awaiting  the  resumption  of 
an  interrupted  story ;  a  basket  of  stockings  to 
be  mended  ;  a  boy's  cap  ;  and  the  china  doll. 

When  the  children  were  abed  she  moved 
about  "  straightening  up,"  with  those  little, 

loving  touches   with   which   women   glorify 
24 


THE 


LADY 


home-making  ;  and  as  he  watched  her  it  came 
to  him  what  he  asked  of  her,  what  he  pur- 
posed against  this  lonely  man  and  these  little 
children  when  he  begged  her  to  go  away. 
But  he  was  young,  and  youth  is  selfish.  And 
he  was  in  love,  and  love  is  selfish — until  it 
learns  better. 

In  a  little  while,  as  soon  as  he  decently 
could,  her  father  got  up  and  left  them.  He 
knew,  though  no  one  had  told  him,  what  the 
situation  was ;  knew  that  the  last  tender 
comfort  of  his  lonely  old  age  hung  in  the  bal- 
ance. But  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  say  a 
word  in  his  own  behalf,  for  love  had  worked 
its  perfect  miracle  in  him,  and  he  was  now, 
not  by  battle  but  by  instinct,  unselfish. 

"Well,"  said  the  young  man,  at  length, 
when  they  two  were  alone  together.  He  was 
watching  her  intently,  his  grave,  delicate  face 
resting  on  a  long,  thin,  nervous-looking  hand. 
(He,  too,  had  fought  hard  for  the  things  he 
counted  worth  while.) 
25 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 

She  was  looking,  not  at  him  at  all  but  into 
the  dim  corner  of  the  room  where  the  old 
sofa  stood,  and  she  seemed  to  be  seeing 
things  he  could  not  see  ;  but  there  was  a  look 
on  her  face  that  made  him  uneasy,  as  a  pris- 
oner who  reads  his  doom  in  the  faces  of  his 
judges  before  ever  condemnation  is  pro- 
nounced. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  repeated,  with  a  little  tremor 
in  his  voice,  "  have  you  had  any  new  light  on 
the  subject  since  last  evening  ?" 

She  avoided  looking  at  him  as  she  an- 
swered : 

"  I  have." 

"  And  it  is ?"  wistfully. 

"  It  is — it  isn't — it's  just  as  I  told  you  last 
night,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice ;  and  about 
her  mouth,  naturally  very  sweet  and  rather 
childish  in  expression,  there  were  lines 
strongly  suggesting  those  that  for  years  had 
marked  the  mouth  of  her  father. 

"I    thought,"    he    began,    haltingly,    "I 
26 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 

hoped — I  mean,  I  felt  sure,  somehow,  that 
you  would  come  to  feel  my  right  to  be  con- 
sidered." 

"You  know  I  have  considered  you,"  she 
answered.  "  You  know  that  my  struggle  has 
been  not  to  consider  you,  but  to  keep  from 
considering  you  and  myself  too  much.  I 
hope,"  she  went  on,  and  her  voice  broke  and 
quavered, "  that  not  many  women  have  to  come 
through  such  a  struggle.  I'm  sure  there  can't 
be  many  of  us  wicked  enough  to  deserve  it." 

She  leaned  further  forward  as  she  spoke, 
and  screened  her  eyes  with  her  hand.  In  an 
instant  he  was  beside  her  and  would  have 
gathered  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  pushed  him 
away  gently. 

"  No,  oh,  no !  Go  away,  please,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  you  mustn't  make  it  harder  for  me  1 
You  must  help  me  to  bear  it !  " 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  do,"  he  cried,  hotly ; 
"  I  want  to  help  you  bear  things,  and  you 

won't  let  me  !  " 

27 


THE       .LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


Something  of  the  eternal  patience  of  the 
woman  in  suffering  looked  at  him  out  of  her 
eyes,  which  she  raised  to  his  full  of  reproach, 
and  he  was  ashamed  of  his  impatience. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear,"  he  murmured,  humbly, 
"  but  oh  !  this  means  so  much  to  me,  I  can't 
help  pleading  with  you.  Your  sister  threw 
her  life  away,  but  why  should  you  feel  that 
she  threw  yours,  too  ?  What  right  had  she," 
fiercely,  "to  indulge  herself  in  selfishness 
which  was  to  involve  others  so  terribly  ?  " 

"  Then  what  right,"  smiling  wanly,  "  have 
I  to  indulge  myself  in  selfishness  which  will 
involve  these  same  '  others '  still  more  ter- 
ribly?" 

"  Ah,  you  don't  see !  You  don't  try  to 
see!" 

"  I  see  that  my  duty's  here,  dear — keeping 
the  old  home  for  my  poor  father,  mothering 
my  dead  sister's  children,  teaching  the  vil- 
lage youth  its  five-finger  exercises  to  eke  out 

I  see  there  is  no  possible 

28 


THE 


happiness  for  me  if  I  turn  my  back  on  these 
who  have  been  given  into  my  keeping.  God 
knows  I  have  longed  for  children  of  my  own 
— of  our  own — but  so,  it  seems,  it  was  not 
to  be." 

Something  primal,  passionate,  with  all  the 
power  that  endlessly  repeats  the  awesome 
miracle  of  the  creation,  swept  through  him 
at  her  words,  but  the  look  on  her  face  re- 
strained his  utterance,  and  it  came  to  him,  in 
a  flash  of  recognition,  that  there  are  greater 
powers,  even  in  Godhead,  than  the  power  to 
beget,  and  that  the  greatest  of  them  is  the 
power  of  sacrifice. 

She  was  not  trusting  herself  to  look  at  him, 
but  in  a  moment  she  went  on  in  a  plaintively 
steady  voice : 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that  I 
could  never  tell  to  any  one  else,  not  even  to 
my  father.  Perhaps  you'll  laugh  at  me  ;  but, 
no  !  I  don't  think  you  will. 

"  When  I  was  a  little  bit  of  a  lonely  girl  I 
29 


HE          LADY          IN          GRAY 


used  to  have  an  imaginary  friend — as  all  chil- 
dren do,  I  suppose,  especially  those  who  are 
left  to  themselves  a  good  deal — whom  I  called 
'  the  gray  lady,'  because  I  was  fond  of  gray 
and  liked  to  think  she  wore  it.  She  was  a 
lovely  lady,  and  whenever  I  wanted  to  '  pre- 
tend' the  most  comforting  or  delightful 
things,  I  always  pretended  they  came  from 
her.  I  remember  that  when  I  wouldn't  eat 
something  that  was  deemed  good  for  little 
girls,  and  was  sent  from  the  table  in  disgrace, 
I  used  to  go  and  lay  my  head  on  a  fat  old 
rag-bag  in  the  closet  of  my  room,  and  cry  and 
cry,  and  wish  I  were  dead  and  buried  in  a 
nice  little  white  coffin,  out  by  the  side  of  my 
dear  mother ;  and  that  Cousin  Julia  would 
walk  behind  me  in  my  coffin  weeping  wildly 
and  wailing  that  she  had  '  never  treated  that 
poor  lamb  kind  enough  1 '  That  was  a  mild 
comfort,  but  not  enough.  And  then  the  gray 
lady  would  come  and  say,  '  Come  to  my 
house,  darling,  and  I'll  buy  you  a  little  cart 
30 


THE 


D    Y 


I    N 


GRAY 


with  a  pony,  and  we'll  have  ice-cream,  all 
you  can  eat,  for  dinner  every  day.'  I  always 
went — without  lifting  my  tear-drenched  face 
from  the  rag-bag,  of  course — and  was  so 
happy  in  her  society  that  I  forgot  all  my 
woes.  Oh,  she  was  good  to  me — was  my 
gray  lady ! 

"  For  years,  though,  I  haven't  thought  of 
her ;  but  last  night,  after  you  had  gone,  I 
came  back  in  here  and  crouched  down  beside 
this  old  sofa  where  I  used  to  bring  my  child- 
ish aches  and  sorrows,  and  buried  my  head 
in  it  and  fought  the  fiercest  fight  I  ever  want 
to  come  through  in  my  life.  I  think  if  I 
knew  life  would  hold  another  such  hour,  I 
could  not  muster  courage  to  go  on  living. 
There  seemed  to  be  so  much  of  right  on  both 
sides,  and  on  both  sides  so  much  danger  of 
doing  wrong !  How  could  any  poor,  dis- 
traught woman  know  which  path  to  take, 
even  if  she  had  the  supreme  courage  to  take 
the  higher  path  at  whatever  cost  ?  And 
31 


THE  LADY  IN          GRAY 


while  I  crouched  here  in  agony,  all  at  once 
there  was  my  gray  lady,  as  vivid  before  my 
inner  vision  as  ever  she  had  been,  and  when 
she  said  to  me,  'You're  in  trouble,'  I  cried, 
for  the  first  time  in  all  my  struggle.  It  was 
such  a  relief  I  cannot  describe  it  to  you,  but 
it  seemed  like  going  back  from  being  a  tor- 
tured woman  to  being  a  child  again,  and 
feeling  sorrow  to  be  not  a  responsibility  but 
an  injustice. 

"  And  so  I  poured  out  all  the  story  of  my 
woe.  And  it  was  such  a  comfort  to  be  plead- 
ing for  myself,  instead  of  always  against  my- 
self,  as  I  had  had  to  do.  '  Other  men  and 
women  jump  into  marriage  without  a  look 
ahead  or  behind  but  with  eyes  only  for  each 
other,'  I  urged,  '  why  can't  we  ?  Why  do  we 
have  to  stand  and  weigh  and  ponder  and 
hesitate  ?  And  how  do  we  know  that  with 
all  our  weighing,  the  scales  of  our  present 
knowledge  are  just  ?  How  do  we  know  that, 
though  we  are  willing  to  sacrifice  ourselves 
32 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


and  all  our  hopes,  we  are  not  shutting  the 
door  in  the  face  of  our  great  destiny  ? ' 

"  And  oh,  dear,  what  do  you  think  my  gray 
lady  did  ?  She  said,  '  I  know.  I  came  to 
help  you.'  And  from  the  folds  of  her  dress 
she  drew  a  little  pair  of  scales  of  shining  gold. 
'  The  scales  of  beautiful  living/  she  said,  and 
held  them  up  for  me  to  see  ;  '  they  weigh  not 
as  the  balances  of  to-day,  but  as  the  balances 
of  eternity. 

"  '  Hold  them  in  your  hands/  she  said,  and 
I  reached  out  my  hand  and  took  them. 
'  Now/  she  went  on,  '  into  one  scale  you  shall 
put  every  reason  you  can  think  of  why  you 
should  marry  the  man  of  your  heart  and  live 
the  life  you  crave.  And  into  the  other  you 
shall  put  every  reason  you  think  should  deter 
you.  And  the  balances  will  tell  you  truly  the 
weight  of  each.' 

"  And   I   did.     I   put  in   all   the   reasons 

against,   first,   and   then   I    tried — oh,   God 

knows,  dear,  how  I  tried — to  lay  enough 

33 


gument  in  the  other  balance  to  make  it  the 
heavier.  But  I  couldn't — I  couldn't  1 " 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment  while  she 
struggled  with  her  tears.  Then  she  said : 

"  It  was  a  dream,  I  suppose,  for  I  woke, 
cramped  and  stiff,  long  past  midnight,  and 
the  pillow  on  the  sofa  was  wet — cold  and  wet 
with  my  crying.  But  there  could  never  be 
any  further  argument  for  me  ;  I  can  never 
feel  that  the  scales  weighed  other  than  true." 

She  had  begun  with  her  face  averted,  as  if 
afraid  to  look  at  him  lest  she  see  incredulity 
in  his  expression.  But  as  her  narrative  pro- 
gressed she  could  not  bear  the  suspense,  and 
she  finished  with  her  gaze  fastened  intently 
on  him.  It  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he 
put  up  a  hand  to  cover  his  eyes.  In  the 
silence  that  followed  her  account  of  the 
weighing  of  the  balances  she  waited,  tensely, 
for  him  to  speak  ;  but  he  didn't.  Then  she 
caught  the  gleam  of  something  on  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  my  dear ! "  She  was  kneeling  by 
34 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


him,  now,  and  reaching  up  for  his  hand  she 
kissed  it  where  the  tear  lay.  He  was  a  man 
whose  tears  meant  much. 

"  Ah,  no,  no  ! "  she  pleaded,  "  we  mustn't 
take  it  that  way.  It  isn't  doom,  it's  sacrifice. 
It  isn't  fate,  it's  '  the  better  way.'  When  the 
balance  with  love  in  it  trembled  in  air,  and  the 
balance  with  duty  in  it  went  down,  down,  the 
gray  lady  pointed  to  the  light  balance  and 
asked  me,  *  Do  you  know  why  it  doesn't 
weigh  more  ?  '  And  to  my  look  of  question- 
ing she  answered, '  Because  love  never  weighs 
much  that  has  not  been  much  sacrificed  for. 
If  you  refuse  sacrifice,  love  can  never  weigh 
more  for  you  than  it  weighs  for  those  who,  as 
you  say,  jump  into  self-gratification,  looking 
neither  back  nor  ahead.'  I  believe  her,  dear, 
don't  you  ?  " 

He  reached  forward  and  drew  her  to  him, 
and  for  a  while  he  could  not  command  him- 
self to  say  a  word,  but  their  closeness  and  the 
silence  soothed,  and  presently  he  said  : 
35 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


"  Yes,  I  believe  her.  I  have  been  so  sure 
that  there  could  be  no  real  life  without  you, 
and  that  no  life  with  you  could  be  less  than 
the  best;  but  now  I  see  how  it  might  be 
otherwise — it  might  be  otherwise." 

"I  am  so  glad,"  she  said.  But  when  he 
was  gone  she  went  back  into  the  sitting- 
room,  put  out  the  lamp,  and  kneeling  on  the 
floor  with  her  head  on  the  chair  where  he  had 
been  sitting,  gave  herself  up  to  such  agony 
of  renunciation  as  only  a  strong  spirit  can 
know. 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


III 

IT  was  a  golden  summer  morning.  On 
the  lawn  to  the  south  of  a  little  brown 
house  we  wot  of,  a  boy  was  pushing  a 
lawn-mower  up  and  down  in  nicely-calcu- 
lated, even  strips,  like  a  good  plowman 
making  straight  furrows.  From  the  kitchen 
windows  of  his  house  came  delicious,  fruity 
odours,  telling  all  the  neighbourhood  his 
mother  was  preserving. 

In  the  back  yard  of  the  little  brown  house 
a  big  German  woman  of  magnificent  physique 
was  hanging  out  snow-white  clothes  and  look- 
ing as  if  the  effort  of  washing  them  had  been 
no  tax  at  all  on  her  superb  energy. 

An  acute  ear,  listening,  might  have  heard 
the  low  hum  of  happy,  homely  industry  vibrat- 
ing through  all  life,  least  and  greatest ;  from 
the  buzzing  of  bees  among  the  tall  honey- 


37 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

suckle  stalks,  to  the  murmur  of  conversation 
in  a  group  of  little  girls  rocking  sedately  on 
their  diminutive  chairs  in  the  shelter  of  a 
vine-screened  porch  and  sewing  for  their 
respective  dolls. 

In '  the  sitting-room  of  the  little  brown 
house  an  infinitesimal  gray  and  white  kitten 
sported  ecstatically  with  a  ball  of  crumpled 
paper  tied  to  a  piece  of  string  and  dangling 
from  the  back  of  a  chair. 

The  south  and  east  windows  were  closed 
nearly  to  the  bottom,  but  the  west  window 
of  the  bay,  where  the  sun  would  not  be  for 
hours,  was  open  wide,  and  the  smell  of  the 
new-mown  grass  floated  in  deliciously. 

But  for  all  the  serene  commonplaceness  of 
every  surrounding,  an  air  of  heaviness  was 
in  the  room,  an  air  which  only  they  can  ap- 
preciate who  have  felt  the  chill  of  personal 
apprehension  in  sharp  contrast  to  the  warmth 
and  content  of  the  world  all  around. 

On  the  sofa,  lightly  covered  with  a  knitted 
38 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

afghan,  lay  a  little  girl  who  should  have  been 
one  of  the  group  on  the  porch  with  the  trel- 
lised  vine.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  and  she 
reached  down  a  hand  now  and  then  to  snap 
her  ringers  at  the  vivacious  kitten.  But  there 
were  marks  of  acute  suffering  on  the  deli- 
cately-featured face,  and  the  hand  that 
played  with  the  kitten  had  lost  all  its  childish 
plumpness  and  grown  pitifully  thin.  It  was 
hard  to  know  whether  she  was  the  more  or 
less  pathetic  because  there  was  neither  fear 
nor  self-pity  in  her  eyes. 

The  door  from  the  sitting-room  into  the 
hall  was  closed,  and  on  the  other  side  of  it  a 
little  scene — in  the  like  of  which  we  have  all 
played,  some  time,  our  part — was  being  en- 
acted. The  doctor  had  left  his  patient,  and 
the  patient's  most  anxious  relative  had  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  door,  tragically  eager  to 
know  how  much  he  had  dissembled  in  the 
patient's  presence,  and  how  ill  or  good  was 
the  real  truth. 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


"  She  seems  a  little  brighter  to-day— don't 
you  think  ?  "  said  the  woman,  hopefully. 

"  Ye-es,"  answered  the  medical  man,  wish- 
ing to  God  he  might  say  it  more  emphatic- 
ally. 

"  You  think — don't  you — that  is — there 
seems  to  be  every  reason  to  hope  she  will 
pull  through  all  right  1 " 

It  was  a  horrible  moment  and  had  best  be 
got  through  with  quickly.  If  there  were 
mercy  anywhere  it  must  be  in  the  quick  dis- 
patch of  hope  ;  after  which  love  could  bring 
to  its  own  aid  whatever  form  of  resignation 
was  possible  to  it. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  steadily,  and  trying  to 
evade  her  searching  look,  "  that  the  immedi- 
ate danger  of  death  from  meningitis  is  past, 
but  that  she  will  never  walk  again." 

He  saw  her  face  go  ashen  pale,  saw  her 
clutch  a  rail  of  the  banister  for  support,  but 
she  neither  "  winced  nor  cried  aloud."  After 

a  few  moments  in  which  both  were  distinctly 
40 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


v 


conscious  of   the   whirr  of  the  lawn-mower, 
and  of  naught  besides,  she  said  : 

"  We  might  try  consultation  ?  We — is 
there  nothing  to  be  done  ?  "  He  shook  his 
head.  Of  course  she  might  try — one  may 
always  try,  and  the  effort  is  in  itself  a  com- 
fort. It  is  something  to  feel  that  no  stone 
has  been  left  unturned — but ! 

The  habits  of  gentle  breeding  impelled  her 
to  thank  him  gravely,  and  to  speak  the  formal 
good-day.  Then  the  door  closed  behind 
him  and  she  heard  the  grating  of  his  carriage 
wheel  against  the  stone  horse-block.  At  first 
thought,  the  closing  of  the  door  meant  re- 
lease from  self-restraint,  and  she  wondered, 
dully,  where  she  should  go  to  "  have  it  out 
with  "  this  new  horror  that  had  come  upon 
her,  and  learn  how  to  adjust  her  life  to  its 
endurance.  But  a  sweet  little  voice  called 
"  Auntie  !  "  and  whispering  to  herself,  "  not 
yet,  not  yet,"  she  summoned  all  her  strength 
of  dissemblance  and  answered  the  call. 
41 


LADY  IN  GRAY 

"  Auntie,"  said  the  child,  "  Mabel  and  Annie 
Louise  and  them  are  making  dresses  for  their 
little  dolls  over  on  Mabel's  porch  ;  I  can  hear 
'em.  Please  can't  I  make  my  little  doll  a 
new  dress  ?  Haven't  you  any  nice  new  pieces 
you  could  give  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,"  with  finely  assumed 
gaiety,  "  that  poor  child  of  yours  hasn't  had 
a  new  dress  in  all  these  weeks  her  mamma's 
been  sick.  It's  a  perfect  shame  the  way  she's 
been  neglected  !  Now,  let's  see  ;  what  kind 
of  a  dress  would  you  like  her  to  have?  " 

"  Pink  !  Pink  silk,"  said  the  child,  eagerly, 
"  an'  one  o'  those  ermine  coats  you  make  out 
o'  canton  flannel  an'  ink  dabs  ?  " 

"  Oh,  perfectly  beautiful !  I'll  go  this  min- 
ute and  look  for  some  pieces." 

The  lawn-mower  continued  to  whirr  up  and 
down  the  straight  swathes  ;  a  grocer's  boy, 
coming  from  the  kitchen  door  by  the  path 
through  the  side  yard,  stopped  at  the  bay 
window  and  called  that  he  had  left  "the 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


G    R    A 


goods  "  in  the  washwoman's  care,  and  after 
he  had  clattered  noisily  down  the  walk,  Annie 
Louise's  thin  small  voice  could  be  heard  from 
the  neighbouring  porch  insisting,  "  Anyhow, 
mine's  out  of  really  dress  silk,  and  yours  is 
on'y  out  of  a  ribbon  !  " 

"  I  guess  they  ain't  any  of  'em  got  an  ermine 
cloak,"  said  the  child  ;  but  her  interest  was 
beginning  to  wane,  and  before  the  dressmak- 
ing was  finished,  she  said  : 

"  Let's  do  the  rest  to-morrow." 
"  Shall  Auntie  read  to  you,  Precious  ?  " 
"  Yes'm ;    read   Little   Silverhair  and  the 
three  bears." 

But  before  the  little  bear  had  come  home 
to  find  his  chair  sat  in,  the  child  was  asleep. 

The  woman  moved  about  quietly,  putting 
away  the  little  doll  and  her  new  toggery,  and 
the  picture-book  with  the  story  of  Silverhair. 
Then  she  went  out  to  the  kitchen  and  gave 
the  young  daughter  of  the  German  wash- 
woman, who  was  helping  in  this  crisis,  a  few 
43 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


GRAY 


simple  directions  about  lunch.  This  done, 
she  came  back  to  the  side  of  her  charge  and 
sat  down.  It  was  her  first  opportunity  to 
think  over  the  doom  pronounced  by  the  doc- 
tor. At  first  her  mind  refused  to  grasp  the 
reality  of  it ;  a  vague  feeling  of  heartsickness 
sat  heavily  on  her,  but  it  was  more  like  the 
recollection  of  a  horrible  nightmare  than 
actual,  poignant  suffering. 

Gradually,  however,  it  all  came  home  to 
her ;  and  with  tenfold  bitterness,  when  she 
thought  of  the  unsuspecting  child  sentenced 
to  lifelong  invalidism  and  ignorant  of  her 
sentence — unable  to  comprehend  it  even  if  it 
were  told  her. 

With  a  mighty  convulsion  of  agony  the 
woman  slipped  from  her  chair  and  crouched 
beside  the  sofa,  laying  her  head  near  the 
child's  poor  little  useless  feet. 

"  I  can't  endure  it,  I  can't,  I  can't,"  she 
murmured  through  clenched  teeth.  And 
then,  on  a  sudden,  she  seemed  to  see  the 
44 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

gray  lady.  Years  ago  the  gray  lady  had 
looked  very  young  indeed  ;  she  appeared  to 
have  nothing  to  do  save  to  look  pretty  and 
dispense  delights.  But  now  she  looked  dis- 
tinctly the  woman  who  has  lived  and  suf- 
fered. 

"  Poor  child,"  she  said,  and  touched  the 
woman's  hair  with  loving  fingers,  "poor 
child." 

And  again,  as  on  that  night  not  so  very 
long  ago,  the  tears  of  self-pity  rushed  to  the 
woman's  eyes. 

"  I  have  to  bear  up  before  everybody  else," 
she  said  apologetically,  as  she  drew  a  hand 
across  her  streaming  eyes.  "  I  feel  that  if  I 
give  'way,  they  all  will.  But  you — you  seem 
all  strength  as  well  as  all  sympathy,  and  I 
want  to  throw  myself  on  you  as  a  wearied 
child  throws  itself  on  its  mother." 

"  That  is  what  I  came  for,  dear,"  said  the 
gray  lady. 

"When  they  told  me  she  might  die," 
45 


sobbed  the  woman,  "  I  said  I  couldn't  give 
her  up."  She  was  like  a  child  confessing 
her  fault.  "  I  said  it  would  kill  me,  but  oh ! 
I  didn't  understand  what  life  might  come  to 
mean  for  her.  I  thought  only  of  myself— 
she  is  so  much  to  me  !  It  would  have  been 
so  much  better  for  her  if  she  had  died.  Oh, 
do  you  suppose  God  left  her,  crippled,  to 
punish  me  for  my  rebellion  against  giving 
her  up  ?  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it !  I've 
had  practice  enough  in  giving  up ;  it  ought 
to  come  easy  to  me  by  this  time  I" 

The  gray  lady  smiled.  "  Have  you  never 
thought,"  she  asked,  "  that  when  a  thing  has 
become  easy  to  you,  even  if  the  thing  be  re- 
nunciation, it  may  be  too  little  to  require  of 
you  ?  Renunciation  isn't  all  of  life,  dear  ;  it's 
only  the  first  lesson  that  poor,  selfish  youth 
must  learn.  After  a  while,  renunciation  be- 
comes easy ;  then  one  must  learn  a  harder 
lesson — one  must  learn  to  endure." 

"  I  must  be  a  very  hardened  sinner,"  sighed 
46 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

the  woman,  wearily ;  "  it  seems  to  take  such  a 
lot  of  pounding  to  hammer  me  into  shape." 

"  When  you  went  to  school  did  you  think 
you  were  a  very  stupid  little  girl  because  the 
teachers  put  you  through  so  many  classes  ?  " 

"Ah,  but  this  is  different — and  to  what 
purpose  ?  "  There  was  a  bitter  little  fling  to 
the  question. 

"  That  I  may  not  tell  you,  but  at  least  I 
may  tell  you  this :  I  come  from  where  all 
things  are  plain  and  the  Providence  in  every 
happening  stands  revealed  ;  but  there  is  much 
I  may  not  tell  you,  for  not  by  knowledge  but 
by  faith  must  certain  things  be  done.  Once 
before  I  brought  you  the  little  gold  scales 
and  let  you  weigh  your  alternatives  and 
choose,  and  you  chose  the  better  part.  Re- 
nunciation, to  be  real,  must  be  by  choice,  not 
by  compulsion.  This  time  it  is  not  so ;  en- 
durance, to  serve  its  great  ends,  must  be  by 
compulsion,  not  by  choice.  You  have  no 
alternative,  but  this  I  can  show  you  :  In  this 
47 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 

left  balance  you  may  imagine  all  the  pain, 
all  the  weariness,  all  the  bitterness  of  this 
affliction,  and  that  it  weighs  heavy  I'll  not 
attempt  to  deny.  But  see,  dear — for  your 
strengthening  1  This  other  balance  holds  the 
weight  of  blessing  this  affliction  shall  be  to 
you,  and  through  you  to  many.  See,  dear — 
only  see  I " 

The  balance  of  pain  went  up,  and  the  bal- 
ance of  blessing  down,  'way  down,  and  the 
dear  gray  lady  faded  with  her  shining  gold 
scales. 

When  the  little  lad  came  in  from  his  play 
he  was  frightened  to  find  the  group  in  the 
sitting-room  so  still,  but  the  stir  of  his  coming 
woke  the  child,  who  cried  brightly : 

"  Why,  we  both  went  to  sleep  I " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman,  jumping  up,  "  it's 
a  sleepy  morning;  even  pussy  went  to  sleep." 
And  she  pointed  to  the  ball  of  gray  and  white 
curled  up  on  the  floor  beneath  its  dangling 

plaything. 

48 


THE  LADY  IN  GR 


IV 

THE  neighbours,  who   knew  exactly 
how  many  pupils  she  had  and  how 
many  lessons  a  week  each  took,  and 
how  much  she  got  per  hour,  said  she  could 
never  have  done  it  all  on  her  modest  earn- 
ings.    They  knew,  too,  the  precise  amount 
of  life  insurance  left  her  by  her  father,  and 
the  figure,  to  a  penny,  of  what  was  in  the 
bank  after  his  funeral  expenses  were  paid. 

But  however  she  had  done  it,  the  little 
brown  house  was  painted  white,  with  buff 
trimmings ;  the  old  wooden  fence  was  replaced 
by  an  aristocratic  hedge  ;  and  at  the  rear  of 
the  lot  there  was  a  dapper  little  barn  housing 
a  fat  pony  and  a  little  wicker  cart. 

The  old  sitting-room  was  almost  unrecog- 
nizable.    The  sofa  was  covered  with  a  bright 
drape,  the  dull  drab  wall-paper  with  the  aim- 
49 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

less  gilt  scrolls  which  had  done  duty  for  so 
many  years  was  replaced  by  a  plain  paper  of 
rich  deep  crimson  which  set  off  to  admirable 
advantage  the  many  bright,  charming  pic- 
tures with  which  the  walls  were  hung.  In- 
stead of  the  patent  rocker  there  was  an 
enormous  "Sleepy  Hollow"  chair  uphol- 
stered in  rich-toned  tapestry.  In  a  word,  the 
room  bespoke  the  love  that  had  made  the 
changes,  and  one  needed  little  acuteness  to 
guess,  on  entering  it,  that  it  was  the  dear, 
familiar  place  of  some  one  whose  comfort  and 
happiness  were  life's  best  delight  to  some  one 
else.  There  are  rooms  that  breathe  selfish- 
ness, and  you  cannot  enter  them  without  the 
oppressive  feeling  that  their  owner's  first 
thought  in  life  is  of  self.  And  there  are 
rooms  that  breathe  unselfishness — like  those 
mothers'  rooms  that  are  everybody's  ref- 
uge— and  the  minute  you  cross  their  thresh- 
olds you  feel  their  beneficence.  The  old 
sitting-room  in  its  new  finery  was  eloquent 
50 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

of  a  great  devotion ;  and  a  pair  of  child's 
crutches  told  the  story. 

The  door  into  the  bedroom  adjoining  was 
wide  open,  and  a  sweet,  childish  voice  called 
out  in  comment  now  and  then  as  the  woman's 
voice  read  on — "  to  show  you  I'm  awake,"  the 
childish  voice  said. 

By  the  table  under  the  drop  light  the 
woman  sat  in  the  Sleepy  Hollow  chair,  read- 
ing from  "  Little  Women."  At  length  she 
said : 

"  The  next  chapter  is  where  Beth  gets  sick 
and  Jo  and  Laurie  make  the  snow  man  for 
her.  Shall  I  read  on,  or  are  you  sleepy?" 

No  answer  from  the  bedroom,  but  in  the 
silence  of  strained  listening,  the  sound  of 
gentle,  regular  breathing.  The  woman  laid 
by  the  book  and  tiptoed  in  to  look  at  her 
charge  and  to  draw  the  covers  a  little  closer 
about  her — not  that  she  needed  them  so,  but 
that  it  did  good  to  the  heart  that  loved  her 
to  make  even  a  pretense  of  service. 
5' 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 

Returned  to  her  seat  by  the  light,  the 
woman  unfolded  an  evening  paper,  a  Satur- 
day evening  special  edition  of  a  metropolitan 
journal  of  which  she  was  fond. 

She  looked  "all  of  thirty,"  as  the  neigh- 
bours said,  meaning,  probably,  that  she  looked 
a  good  deal  more.  But  the  neighbours  reck- 
oned age  by  gray  hairs,  of  which  she  had 
more  than  her  due  share,  threading  the  thick 
dark  locks  above  her  ears  and  temples.  What 
the  neighbours  could  never  quite  understand 
was  the  look  she  wore  in  her  face.  The  gray 
hairs  they  considered  her  entitled  to,  for 
they  agreed  that  she  had  "seen  a  lot  o' 
trouble,"  but  there  was  that  in  her  expres- 
sion which  baffled  them.  Women  with  chil- 
dren of  their  own — hearty,  romping,  rosy 
children — shook  their  heads  and  said  they 
couldn't  wear  that  serenity  in  their  faces  if 
their  little  ones  lay  suffering  and  crippled  in 
the  house.  "  But  'tain't  as  if  'twas  her  own 
child,"  they  said;  "no  woman  can  feel  the 
52 


THE  LADY          IN  GRAY 

same  about  another  woman's  child."  Which 
went  to  show  how  little  the  neighbour  women 
knew. 

With  a  sharp  exclamation  the  woman  drew 
the  paper  she  was  reading  closer  to  her  as 
if  unable  to  believe  her  own  eyes.  There,  at 
the  top  of  a  broad  page,  underneath  glaring 
headlines,  was  a  picture  of  the  little  low 
house,  something  purporting  to  be  a  picture 
of  her,  and  a  rude  drawing  of  the  child  on 
crutches,  waiting  to  be  helped  into  her  pony 
cart  The  headlines  said  : 

"  The  great  literary  secret  of  the  year  is 
out !  Charming  books  which  have  captivated 
two  continents  the  work  of  a  woman  entirely 
unknown  to  literary  world.  Poor  music- 
teacher  in  one  of  this  city's  suburbs  said  to 

be  the  author  of  ' '  and  ' .' 

Desire  to  provide  medical  skill  and  luxuries 

for  crippled  niece  led  Miss to  write, 

etc.,  etc.     Story  of  the  secret's  discovery." 

When  she  laid  down  the  paper  the  serene 

53 


look  of  the  woman  who  had  learned  to  re- 
nounce without  being  embittered  and  to  en- 
dure without  fret,  was  gone.  There  was 
something  in  this  horror  that  neither  sacrifice 
nor  sorrow  had  prepared  her  to  bear.  But 
looking  up,  she  saw  her  gray  lady. 

As  if  the  gray  lady  were  responsible  for 
this  shameful  thing,  the  woman  thrust  it  at 
her.  Maddened  with  the  torture  of  it,  she 
cried  : 

"  Is  it  for  THIS  I  have  suffered  these  long, 
lonely  years  ?  Didn't  I  do  every  hard  thing 
that  was  required  of  me,  crying  for  no  quar- 
ter when  you  told  me  they  were  for  the  best  ? 
And  is  THIS  what  I  must  face,  just  when  I 
had  learned  to  find  sweetness  in  my  sorrow 
and  blessedness  in  my  lot?" 

"Ten  years  ago,"  said  the  gray  lady,  gently, 
"  you  craved  fame ;  you  were  almost  willing 
to  pay  a  more  terrible  price  than  this  for  it." 

"  But  this,"   retorted  the  woman,  bitterly, 
"  is  not  fame  !     This  is  crucifixion." 
54 


THE 


LADY 


I    N 


G    R    A 


"  Most    fame    is,"    said    the    gray    lady, 
quietly. 

"  I  didn't  do  it  for  fame,"  the  woman  pro- 
tested, "  I  did  it  for  her.  I  wanted  money 
for  her  ;  I  wanted  doctors'  skill,  and  a  hun- 
dred comforts.  I  wanted  the  pony  cart  and 
easy  chairs  and  pretty  pictures  and  other 
things  I  could  not  buy.  And  like  thousands 
of  poor,  tortured  things,  I  tried  writing- — 
writing  out  of  the  fullness  of  my  own  heart. 
The  things  I  wrote  were  too  sacredly  personal 
to  acknowledge,  but  the  publisher  gave  me 
his  written  bond  that  he  would  never  disclose 
my  identity.  It  was  a  great  comfort  to  have 
the  money,  and  to  know  that  people  loved 
the  books — that  they  reached  other  hearts 
even  as  they  had  come  from  mine.  The 
dread  that  I  would  be  taken  from  my  darling 
and  leave  her  unprovided  for,  seemed  to  lift 
and  leave  me  free.  And  I  was  happy,  really 
happy  ;  willing  to  believe  that  after  all  every- 
thing was  for  the  best,  and  that  my  suffer 
55 


THE          LADY          IN          GRAY 

ings  had  been  sanctified  to  many,  as  you  said 
they  would  be.     But  this,  THIS  1 " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  soothed  the  gray  lady, 
"  listen  to  me :  I  couldn't  tell  you,  as  I  said, 
when  I  stood  by  you  and  watched  you  suffer, 
and  knew  what  it  was  all  for.  But  don't  you 
see,  now,  how  you  have  been  led  hither? 
How,  when  you  thought  you  were  denying 
yourself,  you  were  setting  your  feet  in  the 
way  of  your  heart's  desire  ?  And  how,  when 
that  doctor's  verdict  seemed  to  crush  you,  it 
was  in  reality  but  the  weight  of  destiny  im- 
pelling you  towards  accomplishment  ?  A  life 
of  great  labour  lies  ahead  of  you,  dear — a  life 
of  great  labour  and  responsibility,  the  respon- 
sibility of  power.  Like  all  other  things  .of 
great  worth,  it  comes  at  a  great  price,  a 
great  price,  of  which  this,"  touching  the 
offending  paper,  "  is  but  a  very  small  part. 
But  you  wouldn't,  at  this  stage  in  your  brave, 
sweet  life,  refuse  your  duty  because  of  pain 


— would  you?" 

56 


"  It's  too  great  weight  for  me,"  said  the 
woman,  wearily.  "  I  am  old  in  suffering,  and 
I  am  tired.  Years  ago  I  would  have  had  the 
courage  to  go  on,  but  not  now,  not  now  1  I 
could  bear  the  pain,  for  I  have  learned  how 
to  bear  pain  ;  but  I  cannot  bear  the  responsi- 
bility. I  have  learned  how  to  live  my  little, 
narrow  life,  but  I  have  no  preparation  for 
the  great,  wide-reaching  life,  and  it  terrifies 
me.  I  am  old — see  my  gray  hairs — and  I 
am  tired  ;  I  must  be  excused." 

"  Dear,  you  cannot  be  excused,"  said  the 
gray  lady,  firmly.  "  As  for  being  old  and 
tired,  you  are  neither  so  old  nor  so  tired  as 
the  majority  of  those  to  whom  the  responsi- 
bility of  great  action  comes.  And  don't  you 
see  that  it  can't  come  to  the  young,  the  fresh, 
the  eager,  the  untried  ?  That  one  must  be 
well  worn  in  suffering  to  be  chosen  for  the 
discharge  of  great  duties  in  a  world  of  suffer- 
ing? And  weariness  is  no  discharge  from 
duty.  You  may  not  refuse  to  obey  because 
57 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

you  have  obeyed  hitherto,  and  are  tired.  De- 
sertion is  desertion,  whether  it  be  at  the  end 
of  a  hard  campaign  or  at  the  beginning,  and 
you  may  not  desert,  you  must  not,  though 
the  darts  that  assail  you  be  poisoned  and  the 
aim  of  the  archers  deadly." 

"  Oh  !  "  the  woman  cried  out  in  her  pain, 
"  who  are  you  that  come  always  to  spur  me 
along  a  hard  way  ?  " 

The  gray  lady's  face  seemed  to  tremble 
with  emotion  for  a  moment,  but  she  made  no 
reply ;  only  drew  forth  for  a  third  time  her 
shining  scales. 

"  For  your  cheer  in  a  hard  hour,"  she  said, 
"  I  offer  you  again  the  balances  of  beautiful 
living.  Your  life,  up  to  this  point,  has  devel- 
oped in  you  a  great  strength,  a  great  power 
along  the  very  lines  of  strength  of  which 
most  people  stand  in  sore  need.  Now,  you 
have  no  right  to  confine  it  all  to  your  own 
need,  or  to  the  needs  of  your  own  hearth- 
stone. You  have  more  than  enough  for  these 
58 


THE  LADY  IN  GRAY 

and  you  have  no  right  to  withhold  it.  Life 
and  suffering  are  power.  They,  and  this 
power  to  express,  are  the  talents  delivered 
to  you  for  your  stewardship.  See  1  In  this 
balance  I  put  the  weight  of  what  life  has 
brought  you,  and  in  this  other  balance  you 
must  put  your  contribution  of  cheer  and  suc- 
cour and  inspiration  to  the  world.  It  will 
needs  weigh  heavy,  dear,  will  it  not,  if  your 
scales  are  to  balance  ?  " 

"  I  see  !  You  always  make  me  see.  For- 
give me,  dear  gray  lady,  that  I  could  ever 
have  questioned  you,"  and  smiling  bravely 
through  her  tears,  the  woman  caught  a  look 
on  her  gray  lady's  face  that  made  the  blur 
of  the  tears  but  a  glass  of  understanding ; 
and  reaching  out  her  arms,  she  cried, 
"Mother!" 

But  the  gray  lady  was  gone,  and  there  was 
some  one  knocking  at  the  door. 

Still  transfigured  by  the  beautiful  knowl- 
edge that  had  just  come  to  her,  the  woman 
59 


I    N 


GRAY 


threw  open  the  door,  willing  now  to  believe 
that  all  were  angels  of  blessing  who  came 
into  her  life. 

On  the  threshold  stood  a  man  who  asked 
her  nothing,  but  folded  her  in  his  arms. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    000110613     7 


